


The Last to Know

by MathildaKitt



Category: Hogan’s Heroes
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25070296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathildaKitt/pseuds/MathildaKitt
Summary: Don’t you just hate being the last one to catch on to the local gossip?
Relationships: Robert Hogan/Wilhelm Klink
Comments: 27
Kudos: 40





	The Last to Know

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a (very) loose connection to “Checkmate”, but you don’t have to read that one to understand this fic.

It started small and Corporal Karl Langenscheidt was quick to notice. As the one who most often was assigned to supervising the twice-weekly cleaning of the office and attached private quarters of the Kommandant, he was very familiar with the Oberst’s personal effects. They were all good quality and he kept them in nearly-new condition, but they were a bit old fashioned - especially the sharp, ivory handled straight razor that the Kommandant used daily. So, when a new silver square-head razor appeared in the washroom, it caught his attention. ‘A visiting officer must have forgotten it,’ he thought. He laid the razor back in the snap-side case he found near the sink and took it to Sergeant Schultz, explaining his find. His CO took the small case without much comment and sent him back to his duties. 

Corporal Louis Lebeau was next, a few days later. He spotted the pair of plain mugs as he started organizing his pans for the impromptu dinner Klink announced for more visiting Bosche brass. They sat innocently upside down, on a teatowel near the sink. He knew the Kommandant ordered his regular meals from the Mess Hall and the trays were sent back, immediately after. The bone china came from Colonel Klink’s personal storage; the Moss Rose that he used more often and the special Meissen set that only came out for honored guests. The white ironstone mugs were out of place and looked like they came from the prisoners’ mess. He plucked them from the towel and put them near the door, so he could bribe Schultzie into returning them while he waited for the boeuf en daube to simmer and the chocolate soufflé to rise.

Fraulein Hilda saw the scuffed Nero Wolfe novel when she stowed her purse in the small coat closet, one Monday morning. It lay innocently on top of the metal filing cabinet near the outer door. On Thursday, it was in the “unerledigt” bin on her desk. The following Tuesday, she retrieved it from the small side table in the Kommandant’s private office, where it leaned cozily against the cut-glass brandy decanter. She was sure the Kommandant wouldn't appreciate that very much, but realized the small book might be destroyed if she gave it to the wrong person. She slipped it between her daily signature files and waited for the Sergeant to stop by the office with his morning report.

The next week, Sergeant Andrew Carter and Corporal Peter Newkirk found twin oddities, almost at the same moment. On a joint recon and re-bug detail, the pair quickly slipped up through the trapdoor and went about their assigned tasks. Newkirk found and photographed the updated map and slid their contact’s briefcase back under the guest bed. He silently stood and checked his exit path for any stray eyes. As he passed Klink’s room, however, he gave in to temptation and popped in for a bit of a look-see. Dark 80-year old furniture, a handful of framed photos on the dresser, a small bookcase of stuffy looking books and a wing chair that had seen better days. Figures. But, right there on the inside door-hook, he spied Colonel Hogan’s blue bathrobe peeking out from underneath the old Bald Eagle’s gaudy smoking jacket. “Bleedin’ Krauts,” he mumbled hotly, “Take whatever they want and think nobody’s gonna stop ‘em.” He folded the bathrobe as small as he could, stuffed it inside his jacket and slipped into the front room to find Andrew.

Carter, for his part, had finished with the new lamp-microphone and was coming to find Newkirk. He had a Red Cross blanket over his arm and a quizzical look on his face. “This was on the end of the sofa and I know it’s supposed to be one of ours because last year, they started putting that funny edging on the blankets … you know, the kind that unravels when you pull on it? Well, this is one of the older ones, from before I came here even. Look - it’s got this one thread that comes down here and …”

“Shut up and come on,” Newkirk huffed, snagging Carter’s sleeve and pulling him toward the wood stove. “Buncha thieves, the lot o’ them.”

A week or so later, Sergeant Richard Baker sat comfortably under the soft glow of the caged lightbulb above him, monitoring the radio channels for any unscheduled messages. It had been a very quiet night and no transmissions were expected, so he skimmed the dial for anything random on the airwaves. He heard the whine of the tuner fade as he started to pick up a signal.

Click. “Check.” Pause. “I know you saw that coming. I bungled the move and still checked you. Your mind’s not on the game tonight. Something’s wrong.”

That was Klink! The colonel had gone over to his personal quarters over an hour ago for their usual evening chess match. He knew he really shouldn’t listen, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Silence. A chair leg scraped on the wooden floor. Two soft footsteps. “I don’t care that you did it. Really, I don’t. But you didn’t have to be so cold about it.”

Baker had to almost strain to hear his CO’s voice. It was much softer than usual.

“Did what? I don’t know what you mean.” A second scrape of wood on wood told Baker that Klink had also moved his chair.

“You could have told me I was pushing things. I would have backed off! Instead, the stuff just turns up in my locker and not a word out of you.” Three steps, a turn and three steps back.

“What _stuff_? You’re starting this story in the middle and I need the beginning, if you want me to understand.” Two steps.

“The robe and the razor, I get those. Too personal, too close to playing house. But the other things? What was wrong with them? But, I guess you needed everything gone.” Harsh breathing. Silence.

“I never touched them, Robert. Please believe me.” Pause. “I noticed the robe first. When I saw it was gone, I checked for your razor and when it was also missing, I just thought you had changed your mind about … being closer. Which, of course, you have every right to and I …” Two steps. “I was afraid to ask you about them and hear the words for myself.”

“I wouldn’t have done that without saying something first. I mean, things are fine, right? We’re good?” Hogan’s voice was a bit stronger now and had a bit of the usual determined tone in it.

“I thought so.” Pause. “But if you’re having doubts, I completely understand and I would never force you to stay in a situation where you don’t want to be.”

Baker heard a quick harsh laugh come from Hogan. “We’re in a POW camp.”

Quick pacing steps and a soft thump. “I realize that!”

“Please, come and sit with me, at least. We need to talk this through and you standing there isn’t helping either of us.”

Baker heard a shifting of fabric and a slight creak of sofa-spring. ‘They have to be right next to the new lamp mic,’ he thought. The angel on his right shoulder told him this was the perfect time to disconnect, but that sly devil on his left told the angel to pipe down.

“Robert, _liebes_ , I don’t want anything to change with our … arrangement. If you do, please, I need you to say something. If I did something wrong, tell me!” Pause. “I just want you to be happy. Well, as happy as can be managed in our present state …”. Klink sounded nervous. His voice picked up the higher tone and quicker pace he used when company visited.

“I didn’t scare you off.” The whisper was a statement, not a question.

“Of course not. Why would you ever think that? We need to be more careful, obviously, but anything worth having is going to involve a bit of risk.” Silence. A scuff of wool against upholstery. A deep sigh was interrupted by Klink's soft words. “None of that, now.” Several minutes passed and Baker only heard a soft, indistinct murmurs through his headset.

“ … should’ve said something.” Hogan’s voice came back, shaky and just a bit muffled, but much less agitated.

“It would have spared you over a fortnight’s worth of upset, if you had.” Klink’s statement carried a gentle teasing note. “Better now?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“What time is it?” Springs creak. “Nearly seven fifty.”

“Two hours, ten minutes before lights out. What d’ya say we move this somewhere else?”

“Feeling that much better, are we?” Klink chuckled.

“Hey, we’ve got a couple real chess matches to catch up on.” Sofa springs, a soft chuckle from Klink and steps that moved farther from the mic. Latch click.

A dozen yards under Barracke 2, Baker stared at the radio receiver, frozen. He had worked this station long enough to trust his own ears and what he just heard confirmed something he had thought was impossible. A rumor that seemed so completely unbelievable, he had laughed for the rest of the night after hearing what Schultz said. Bits of gossip so off-the-wall that it had to be a gag. He even picked at the other guys that seemed to be going along with it. But, there it was - the truth, right in his own earphones. As he hung up the headset on its hook, Baker knew he could never think of his CO and “chess” the same way again AND he’d start paying much closer attention to the guard who always says he knows “nothing!”


End file.
